


every distance is not near

by illusive_delusions



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne gets a redo with Gil about his dad, F/M, Gen, Gilbert Blythe is sad and handsome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusive_delusions/pseuds/illusive_delusions
Summary: Gilbert marks four years since the death of his father.





	every distance is not near

That morning had dawned cold and clear and bright over Charlottetown and the little room of Mary’s old house where Gilbert Blythe often slept when he was held up late while studying with Dr. Ward.

A heavy storm overnight had left the landscape buried beneath a deep blanket of snow, leaving Gilbert to pick his way slowly through town on the way to the train station. As he had made his way through The Bog, the church bells had pealed out their merry chorus and the echo of schoolchildren’s laughter had rung out in the crisp morning air.

Under normal circumstances these things would have brought a smile to his face and an unnameable sort of lightness to his step and to his heart, but today he had walked straight through the center of town without once looking up from his boots to smile at the playing children or to nod at the happy passers by.

At the station he had stared at the departures listing for a long moment, imagining what it would be like to turn heel and walk back through town to the docks. To spend his money not on train fare to Avonlea, but on a ticket to anywhere in the world. New York, maybe, or London, or Paris. _Afoot and lighthearted_ , he had mused briefly as he stepped up to the counter to purchase his seat home.

He had dozed the train ride away, finding a comfort in the jostle of the locomotive that he had somehow never managed in all those months at sea. Arriving back at Bright River, he had collected his horse from the stables and paid his dues to the stable master.

He had driven his horse home fast and hard, letting the clatter of hoofbeats and the rush of the wind against his face drown out his every thought.

He had worked himself hard at home, too, chopping enough wood to last them for days, clambering up to the roof of the shed to replace some fallen shingles, and doing minor maintenance and repairs on the farm equipment until he was drenched in sweat and he ached all over and all the _chopping_ and the _hammering_ and the _tinkering_ could no longer override the thinking part of his brain.

And then, ignoring the concerned look Bash had thrown at him, Gilbert had made his way across his property to the little cemetery where all his family lay.

He was pretty sure the sun had still been up when he’d done that. Now it had sunk almost entirely below the horizon, casting bruised shadows over the pristine snowdrifts. He was glad for it. Good that the world should finally reflect his mood. Better still that the fading light made it harder for Mary to worry over him at the kitchen window.

Now he could cry in peace.

Darkness continued to envelop him as he sat there on the bench in his family graveyard. The blanket of night and the falling snow — _just when had it started snowing again?_ — insulated Gilbert a bit against his desire to maintain control. He could’ve sat there, dragging his bare knuckles against the hard stone beneath him with tears streaming down his face all night long.

The sound of approaching footfall through the snow should have cheered him up, he presumed.

“Go _away_.” Gilbert managed through clenched teeth, not turning to face the intruder. Not wanting to expose his failings.

“I’m going, I swear, I just thought…”

He whipped around at the sound of the unexpected voice, so startled that he didn’t even think to wipe away the snot and tears. It wasn’t Mary come to drag him inside for dinner, not Bash there to offer whiskey and a clap on the back. It was—

“ _Anne_?”

She stood at the gate shuffling slightly in her boots and her oversized winter coat. Another jacket he recognized as his own was draped over her arm, and she held in her hands a quilt and a mug of something warm and inviting.

“I’m not staying,” she reiterated. “I came by to drop off your books and Mary said— well, she told me you were out here without your coat and I…”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh. Come in.” She bent down and fiddled with the latch of the gate as he ran his hands aggressively across his face to belatedly disguise the evidence of his crying from her.

She approached him carefully like she was afraid he’d bite if she moved too fast. He stood and donned the proffered coat as she studied the ground between them. Sitting back down he unfolded the quilt over his lap and took the mug carefully from her, drinking in the heavenly aroma of cocoa and pressing his palms gratefully to the hot ceramic. He hadn’t realized just how _cold_ he had been.

“Well…” he looked up from his beverage to see Anne shuffling slowly backwards toward the gate, a sad smile on her lips. “G’night, Gilbert.” Suddenly the idea of her leaving him and walking back down the path towards Green Gables seemed like a death sentence.

“Wait!” Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist gently, tugging her back towards him. “I…”

Without a word she turned and took a hesitant step forward, lowering herself slowly down beside him on the bench. Silently, he held out a corner of the blanket she had brought, and she pulled it across her lap too. Under the quilt their knees knocked together, jostling his cup slightly. He should have spoken, told her she didn’t really _have_ to stay if she didn’t want to, or talked to her about his dad maybe. But she took his hand gently in hers and squeezed his fingers lightly as she rested her head on his shoulder, and suddenly the need for conversation completely vanished.

They passed the mug of cocoa back and forth between them, and every once and awhile he would catch her eyes and she would smile softly at him. One day, when they weren’t sitting in a graveyard, he would find a way to tell her just what that smile meant to him. Just what _she_ meant to him. But for now, it was enough just to sit there next to her in silence, sharing her warmth on a night when he’d thought nothing at all could comfort him.


End file.
